Death is the Beginning
by Smelly Pirate Hooker
Summary: Buffy doesn't fear death, she accepts it. So when she is killed and ends up in the underground instead of a heaven or a hell, she must come to terms with the fact that perhaps Slayers are even more different than she knew. Some cannon beginning with Season 1, but veering into AU on the regular.
1. Prophecy Girl

**A/N: I don't own the characters depicted here. I have been sitting on this story for a couple of years now and opened it up again after David Bowie's death. (RIP, you amazing man, you.) Since I only have five of around 30 planned chapters written, updates will be sporadic as I deal with school and book projects, so bear with me, please. I hope you like it. The world of Buffy is fun to play in, and Jareth will fit in well. Or perhaps it's the other way around. Either way, enjoy.**

1

(Season 1 Prophecy Girl)

There's a first time for everything, or so the saying goes. A first kiss, a first dance, a first love. The first vampire she ever saw. The first demon that had bested her and sent her running to recover and recoup. The first time she saved the world. And though she didn't really remember it she knew that there was a first time she had tried pancakes and, judging from the way her mouth watered at the mere thought of a stack of hotcakes, that first time had been a rousing success.

In a world of firsts, a world where new demons came springing out of whatever hell dimension they came from, and the old demons, the vampires, just never stopped coming, never stopped multiplying, there was this, probably the weirdest first she'd ever encountered.

This was the first time Buffy died.

Smoke from the numerous candles burned Buffy's eyes, scratched her throat. Her normally quippy sarcasm was seriously lacking some quip, though that could have been a combination of the smoke and the way that her arms were being pinned behind her back. It made it a little more difficult to breathe.

Buffy struggled to free herself from The Master's grasp, the icy fingers of fear gripping her heart for the first time. She wasn't afraid of The Master. She was afraid of failing, of letting everyone down, and of ruining the dress that she had picked out just for the Spring Fling and damn if apocalypse obsessed vampires didn't have the worst timing. No matter how she tried his nasty bat fingers crushed her wrists, his long nails biting into her flesh.

The Master leaned into her, so close that his breath tickled the fine hairs beside her ear, and whispered, "You tried. It was noble of you. You heard the prophecy that I was going to break free and you came to stop me."

Well, duh, thought Buffy, screwing up her face as she redoubled her efforts to get free. If he was going to kill her she wanted him to just do it because she really hated the part of the battle that involved listening to the bad guys brag about their dastardly plans.

"But prophecies are tricky creatures," said The Master, "They don't tell you everything." He leaned in closer and Buffy cringed as the thought of how close that lipless slit of a mouth was to her delicate and girly ear. "You're the one that frees me. If you hadn't come, I couldn't go. Think about that as you go to wherever it is you Slayers go when you die."

The Master bit her. The instant agony of his bite, of his teeth puncturing the skin, was nothing compared to the fiery pull of his mouth on her neck. Her blood rushed to her head and her vision swam so much that the world began to spin. She closed her eyes against the sensation and continued to struggle in his grasp, but his grip was too strong and her efforts too weak and growing weaker with every moment.

His lips were hot against her skin, like a pair of branding irons, and if this was how she was going to go then so be it. She wanted it to end, to be over. She expected her life to flash before her eyes, a series of disjointed, miserable images shot through with bright pinpoints of happiness. Instead her vision dimmed to darkness, then she saw nothing at all.

She felt herself suspended in midair, teetering on the edge of oblivion, as if she were watching it happen to someone else. Something pushed her and she tipped over the edge and fell forward.

Buffy's hands shot out automatically to brace her fall and smacked against smooth stone. Instinctively she leaned into the fall and somersaulted forward, standing up into a defensive crouch in one graceful, swift movement. It was only then that she looked around, ready to defend herself against another attack and not willing to let The Master get that close to her again. But she wasn't in The Master's lair anymore. Confusion made her pause and she stood up and turned in a quick circle to take in her new surroundings.

There were still candles, but these were tucked into heavy iron candelabra along the walls and iron chandeliers suspended from the ceiling. There were chickens and boxes and stone steps and tiny little monsters of every shape and size scattered all about the room. And they were all looking at her as if she had just farted in class. Or had a booger in her nose. Or as if they were the fashion police and she had been caught wearing white after Labor Day.

From behind her came the sound of someone clearing his throat and she whipped around to see a man sitting cockeyed on a gray throne, one leg thrown over the arm of the throne with his back propped up against the other. He rested his hand on his cheek as if he were eternally bored. He wore gray pants and a frilly pirate shirt that hung open halfway down his chest and his hair was like something out of an 80's glam rock music video.

The sudden change of venue was unsettling but she didn't sense nay imminent threat coming from the guy on the throne, or the little monsters. She smirked and asked, "Let me guess, Poison cover band?"

The man scowled and sat up straight in his throne. He lifted his left hand and deftly twisted it and a small, clear crystal ball appeared, balanced on his fingertips.

"Oh, I get it! You're a magician."

"You're not supposed to be here," he said. His voice was haughty and he had a British accent and Buffy wondered why her brain, in its death throes, would choose to populate itself with stuffy British guys telling her what to do, as if she hadn't already had enough of that.

Of course, this stuffy British guy was nothing like Giles. She'd have had Giles committed if he'd shown up dressed like a Sigfried and Roy impersonator. On this guy, however, in a weird way, it sort of worked.

Then he lobbed the crystal at her. Buffy caught it on instinct and the throne room with the glam rocker popped out of existence, immediately replaced by suffocation and darkness and an inability to breathe.

But then . . .

Buffy's chest was moving. Everything felt sluggish and full and any movement caused this intense, fiery pain that radiated from her lungs outward, burning throughout her entire body. Buffy felt the urge to cough. So she coughed. Her body kicked back into gear and she purged the brackish water from her lungs as strong arms held her and excited voices spoke to her about coming back and waking up.

She opened her eyes and blinked until her eyes focused on the face hovering inches above hers. "Xander?" she said. Her voice sounded faint and hoarse.

Xander smiled at her, relief evident on his face. "Welcome back."

Buffy glanced over Xander's shoulder to see Angel, his brow furrowed and his mouth drawn into a grim line. She sat up.

"Easy," said Xander, keeping his hand on her back as if expecting her to collapse at any moment.

"The Master . . ." Buffy started.

Angel said, "He's gone up."

She wished that she could take the time to clear the deadness from her head but she had to go now or more people would die, people who weren't likely to come back. She climbed to her feet and brushed aside all of Xander's clumsy attempts to help her.

You can do this, she told herself. Kill The Master now. Fall apart later.

"Buffy, you're still weak," said Xander.

"No, I'm not." She had spoken the words automatically but then realized that they were true. Something had changed. She felt more powerful somehow but she didn't know how to explain it. So she just said, "I feel . . . different."

Angel and Xander said nothing, merely exchanged glances that told her that they were wondering if they should try to stop her from doing something. The look also said that they knew they wouldn't be able to stop her if she really wanted to go. So in the end they both simply looked back at her for direction.

"Let's go." Buffy led the way to the entrance to the church. Sure, she had just been brought back from the dead but evil wasn't going to sit around, waiting for her to feel better. She was the Slayer. And she had a mega badass vampire to kill.


	2. When She was Bad

**2**

 **(Season 2- When She was Bad)**

"Buffy!" yelled Xander, snapping Buffy out of her thoughts.

"Fine! I'm fine!" She answered automatically even though she was anything but. Her nights were filled with dreams . . . No, not dreams . . . but not nightmares, either. Some of them involved The Master, and those were the ones she woke from, a scream trapped in her throat, her body so tense she felt it would shatter if anyone touched her. Then there were the other dreams, haunting, seductive dreams about the man her mind had conjured up when she had died. Those were the dreams she was afraid to wake from.

Xander plopped down beside Buffy and gave her a weird look. "Good. It's good that you're fine." Buffy blushed as she realized that she had answered a question that hadn't even been asked.

"What were you thinking about?" asked Willow.

The word came out far too quickly for it to be true. "Nothing."

"Come on," said Xander, "You can tell us! We're your bosom friends. The friends of your bosom."

Buffy rolled her eyes and Willow said, "Xander . . ."

Before Xander could comment any further on her bosom, Buffy said, "I wasn't thinking anything. Really. Did I have think-face? 'Cause there was nothing going on." They seemed to buy it because they both opened up their brown bag lunches and started to dig through them.

"What'd you do last night?" asked Willow as she held up an apple to show Xander. He held up a granola bar and they tossed them across the table to each other.

"Slept. Had weird dreams," Buffy said, testing the water. She had dreamed about that place again last night and was dying to tell someone about it. She had kept it to herself all summer long, and along with the psychological effects of rising from the dead she wasn't even sure where that left her in terms of sanity. She wanted to tell her friends. After all, they were her friends and they had been through a lot together. Maybe they'd understand.

"Dreams are meaningful," said Xander.

"They sure are. The other night I dreamt that Xander . . ." Willow glanced at Xander, whose head snapped up at the sound of his name, and stopped herself. She backtracked in a very obvious and clumsy and awkward way. "Uh, it wasn't Xander. In fact, it wasn't me. It was a friend's dream, and they don't remember it."

Buffy smiled, "I bet they don't."

"So, Buff, you were going to tell us about your wild and wacky dream. Was I in it? Was I naked? Were you naked? Were you having that dream where you come to school naked and everyone else is dressed like a clown?" Buffy and Willow stared at him as if he'd lost his mind and or grown a second head. "Okay then. Just me, I guess."

Buffy laughed but it felt hollow.

"Is it Angel?" Willow asked, taking a bite of her granola bar.

Buffy looked down at her hands, not sure where to start. She couldn't blame her friends for thinking she was all out of sorts because of Angel. And she was, considering she hadn't seen him at all since she'd been back, but with the nightmares and the painfully realistic dreams her beef with Angel was not so much in the forefront of her mind.

She felt her friends watching her, expecting her to open up and maybe tell them why she'd been acting so strangely. They wanted to know. And she made up her mind right then to tell them . . . at least part of it.

"Xander, when you brought me back . . ." she started and then paused, not sure how to continue.

"Yeah. We were so scared. We thought you were, you know . . ."

"I was. I think. But I saw something."

Willow's eyes lit up and she leaned forward in her seat. "You had a near death experience?"

"Near death? Like angels singing and bright lights and the feeling of love pervading your eternal soul?"

"Pervading?" Asked Willow with a smirk.

Xander shrugged. "Sometimes I remember things."

"It was more like a dark castle full of goblins and chickens and there was a man dressed like a pirate glam rocker who told me I shouldn't be there." Her admission was met with silence. Buffy looked up at her friends and their faces were frozen in disbelief.

Willow shook it off first and asked softly, "Do you think you went to the other place?"

"Hell, Willow," said Xander, "It's called Hell. And it doesn't exist. And even if it did Buffy wouldn't go there. She'd go to the place with the lights and the singing and the happy." To Buffy he asked, "Was it happy?"

"I don't know," Buffy admitted. "I wasn't there long enough to find out. But it was . . . weird."

"What was weird?" asked Giles as he approached the group. He looked more nervous than usual. "Vampire?"

"Buffy was just telling us how she had a near death experience," volunteered Willow. Buffy shot her a glance and she looked down at her breakfast bar and muttered, "Sorry."

"What's this?" asked Giles, "Near death, did you say?"

Buffy shrugged and tried to make light of something that didn't feel light at all. "After The Master bit me and I . . ." her voice trailed off. It felt weird saying these words but she forced her tongue back into action, "After I died . . . Drowned . . . I wasn't dead. Or maybe I was, but it felt more like I fell into another world. I think . . ."

"What do you mean another world?" asked Giles as he perched on the arm of the couch where Willow was sitting.

"I don't know, exactly. There were little monsters and chickens and a guy who looked like he lived the glam rock lifestyle without irony. He threw a crystal ball at me and then I woke up, thanks to Xander."

Xander laughed nervously and said, "So Heaven is peopled with angry, fortune-telling rock gods? Who knew?" but it did nothing to break the tension.

Buffy could feel the eyes of her best friends and her Watcher boring into the top of her head, waiting for her to elaborate, but she had nothing more to add. Although, she figured she may as well tell them the entire story.

Willow piped up then, bubbling with excitement as if she had just stumbled onto some brilliant new scientific theory that was bound to go screaming over the rest of their heads. "Maybe it was a Hell dimension? Those exist, right Giles?"

"Oh, I don't know if I'd call it that, but it is an interesting theory," said Giles, but it wasn't Giles' voice. It was the droll voice of the man from the hell dimension, or heaven, or hell, or near death experience, or whatever.

Buffy's head shot up, expecting to see that sardonic grin she had been dreaming about all summer long, but instead she saw Giles, looking worried, as usual. "What's the buzz? You look worried."

Giles shook his head. "Aside from your . . . stint into the netherworld . . . The vampire activity. I think I know what they're up to.

"Well," said Buffy, "Don't' stress. We'll deal."

"I hope it's that simple."

"It is not to sweat. Trust me." Buffy sounded more confident than she felt and hoped the others couldn't see through her words.

"I don't know. I mean, I killed you once. It shouldn't be too difficult to do it again."

"What?" Buffy asked, not sure if she had heard him correctly. Instead of answering, however, Giles punched her and Buffy flew backward and landed on the coffee table between the couches. In an instant he was on top of her, his hands wrapped around her throat. Buffy clawed at his arms but he didn't even flinch. Her head felt full and the pressure mounted with each passing moment.

On either side of her Buffy could see Willow and Xander, smiling at each other and talking as if Buffy wasn't being strangled right in front of them, and Buffy wondered why they wouldn't help her. She reached up with weak arms and tried to scratch at Giles' face, hoping the pain would snap him out of whatever had overcome him. Instead her fingers found the flesh pliant and she gripped it and pulled and Giles' face came off as if it were a mask. Buffy's eyes widened in horror as her fading vision took in what was underneath.

It was the Master. And he was killing her. Again.

"So this is the demon that plagues your unconscious mind."

Buffy turned her head to the side to see the glam rocker perched beside a clueless Willow, his leg thrown over one arm of the couch. "Excuse me," Buffy said, able to converse just fine in spite of the hands locked around her throat. "Do you mind? I'm fighting for my life here."

"By all means, my dear. Please continue your eternal struggle."

Buffy gripped the Master's wrists and manage to pull his hands away from her throat just enough for her to choke in a breath before his grip tightened once more. Her eyes watered and her face throbbed from the pressure.

"Is this how you ended up in my world?" the man asked.

"Not quite," Buffy gasped. His world, she thought? What was this guy?

"But this beast was the perpetrator?"

Buffy would have sighed in exasperation if she could have. Instead she answered, "If you insist on sticking around would you mind giving me a hand and I'll tell you everything you want to know?"

The man's face, as well as the rest of the world, was a blur to her but she could still tell when a grin split his face. "All you had to do was ask."

In an instant the lights went out and The Master disappeared. Buffy took a deep and shuddering breath, then choked on it for several seconds before her trachea stopped spasming. She was about to sit up when her body started to tingle, sensing the proximity of something hovering just over her.

"Hello?" she said. Her voice was hoarse and throbbed with pain. She cleared her throat. It hurt worse. "Gypsy guy? You still here?"

"Yes." His voice was close, right before her left ear and she jumped. "Though the moniker 'Gypsy Guy' leaves much to be desired."

"I don't know your name."

"How strange. You come to my world yet you do not know me?

"Nope. Sorry. Should I? I mean, I know I'm not all hip to the oldies but—"

He cut her off. "I am Jareth, the Goblin King."

What the hell is a Goblin King, Buffy wondered. Whatever it was she certainly didn't want to be In the dark with him anymore. "Well, um, Jareth, thanks for the assistance, I guess."

"Your dreams are telling."

The voice was father away now and Buffy sat up slowly, expecting to bump into something at any moment. "What do you mean? Can you turn the lights back on?"

The Goblin King answered one question and ignored the other. "Your fear is thrilling."

Buffy scowled at the darkness. "That's reassuring. So glad I could thrill you."

"Until we meet again," he said. The statement was punctuated by the sound of flapping wings that grew louder and louder until Buffy felt like she had to duck and cover her face to avoid whatever was flying around in the darkness.

Buffy woke from the dream in an instant and waved her arms in the air to protect herself from the rogue bird as the sounds of wings faded slowly into the sounds of crickets and rustling trees. Once she realized that she was awake she sat up in bed, panting, her heart racing.

Buffy's eyes did a quick, panicked scan of her bedroom but nothing was out of place. Though in the dark, after that nightmare, she wasn't entirely sure what she could be sure of anymore. She sniffled and ran her hands through her hair. The nape of her neck was sweating and she lifted her hair off of her neck to cool it, then rolled her head in a circle. It felt stiff. She felt stiff, as if she had been running a marathon or doing some heavy lifting instead of sleeping.

Well that solves that, she thought. I certainly won't be telling anyone about any of this. And why did the Goblin King have to end up in her nightmare about The Master, anyway? He didn't belong in the same category of abject fear and hatred as The Master did. He wasn't even real, anyway, just a misfiring of her oxygen-starved brain cells.

Whatever. She sighed and scowled inwardly as her stupid, wayward brain.

A noise from the window startled her and she glanced over to see the shadow of a body crouched outside the window. After a moment her eyes adjusted to the dim streetlights and she recognized Angel perched on the roof.

"Hello," she said, her heart speeding up in a completely different way as nervousness replaced the fear leftover from her nightmare. She wasn't ready to have whatever conversation they needed to have, especially not at night, in her pj's, with bed-head and sleep-breath.

"Mind if I come in?" Angel asked.

Buffy shrugged. "Be my guest."

He stepped into her room through the window and Buffy clenched her hands into fists to prevent herself from running them over Angel's chest. He walked to her bed, all grace and sexiness, and stood there in awkward silence.

"How are you?" he asked.

Buffy had imagined their reunion many times over the summer and none of them had gone like this. She had expected to be excited and giddy to be near Angel again. Instead she was angry, which surprised her. Her head was so full of images and emotions she wasn't even sure what he could have done to make it better but she wasn't in the mood to give him a pass. She responded with a terse, "Peachy," not because she wanted to be cruel but because she didn't know what else to say.

After a few moments of silence, during which Buffy unfairly blamed Angel for not stepping forward and embracing her, she decided to move this scenario forward. "So, is this a social call? It's kind of late. Or, it is for me. For you this is, what, lunch hour?"

Angel frowned at her and even in the darkness his irritation was clear. She had hurt him. Part of her didn't care. "It's not a social call," Angel said.

"And that means grave danger. Gosh, it's so good to be home."

"I'm sorry. I wish I had better news." Buffy could hear the remorse filling in the spaces between the words. He was sorry about so much more than just being the messenger carrying bad news. It didn't matter.

"Let me guess. Some of your cousins have come for a family barbecue, and we're all on the menu."

"The Anointed One. He's been gathering forces somewhere in town. I'm not sure why."

"I guess I'll find out soon enough." Buffy folded her arms across her chest.

"You don't sound too concerned."

I'm terrified, Buffy thought to herself. But she said, "I can handle myself. After all, I died and spent some time in what I assume was a hell dimension. I hung out with a crazy demon king guy that followed me back and is now infecting my nightmares, so I could use a little action."

"What? You went to a hell dimension?" Angel asked, concern and confusion breaking through his all-business façade. "You never said anything."

Buffy sighed. "You never asked. And it doesn't matter anyway. My questionable mental state and nocturnal disruptions can't possibly be as important as the Anointed One." She made sure to roll her eyes at the mention of her new supposed nemesis.

"Don't underestimate the Anointed One just because he looks a child. He has power over the rest of them. Its source is deep, and old. They'll do anything for him."

Buffy narrowed her eyes. If Angel wasn't going to bring up his two month silence following her death and resurrection, then neither was she. "After you die and come back the big bads just don't pack quite the punch."

"Buffy," Angel started but she cut him off.

"Is that it? Is that everything? 'Cause you woke me up from a really nice dream."

Angel looked at the ground and muttered, "Sorry. I'll go." Buffy lay back down and turned away from him as he started toward the window, then paused. She listened for the sound of his departure but instead heard him say quietly, "I missed you."

Buffy froze and tears stung the backs of her eyes. She knew that she was being unfair to him and then he went and said exactly what she needed to hear. After a moment she turned, ready to face him, finally. "I missed—" she started but the words died in her throat.

Angel was gone. She wished he wasn't.


	3. Anne

**A/N: It's been a while, guys. How's it going? I'm dropping this chapter now because I had a moment. This particular chapter is heavily invested in the episode itself, so bear with me. The story will veer off the beaten track soon enough (if I can find time to write more often).**

 **3**

 **(Season 3 Anne)**

The world returned to Buffy by degrees. Sense of smell came first, and she really wished that it had stayed unconscious. Deeply unconscious. Buffy had never been in an actual slaughterhouse, or a smokehouse. She'd slayed her fair share of demons, some of which smelled worse than a parking lot port-a-potty at a Dodgers game, but she'd never smelled anything like this. It smelled, for lack of a better word, yucky.

Buffy wrinkled her nose and breathed through her mouth, which earned her a mouthful of dust that tasted like ashes. She coughed and opened her eyes, then had to blink a few times because she thought she couldn't see. Turned out that she could, but the room around her was so dark she could barely make anything out at first. Then slowly, she could.

The cell she was in was small and made of stone with some sort of fence or gate at one end. She shared a room with three other people, an old man who was alive but looked at the world through dead eyes, a corpse well on its way to becoming worm food and Lily, who appeared more or less unhurt, at least physically.

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut and then willed herself to sit up. "Lily?" she gasped. Oh, that was probably a bad idea, she thought. Head injuries equal dizziness. She closes her eyes again as she sits completely upright.

"I always knew I would come here," said Lily. Her voice was soft and dreamlike, as if she had given up all hope. "Sooner or later . . . I knew I belonged here."

Well, that makes the kind of sense that doesn't, thought Buffy. She asked, "Where?"

Lily turned to look at Buffy and her eyes were haunted. "Hell."

"This . . . Isn't Hell," said Buffy. The longer she was upright the stronger she felt. She rolled her shoulders and tilted her head from side to side to test for injuries. Nothing. And with that knowledge came confidence. This wasn't Hell. This couldn't be Hell.

"Isn't it?" asked a voice from outside the cell. Both girls turned to see Ken pacing on the other side of the bars, grinning at them. "What is Hell but a total lack of hope? The substance, the tactile proof of despair? You're right, Lily. This is where you've been heading all your life. You come from nothing, to become nothing.

"But you're right, on some level," he said, looking at Buffy, "This isn't Hell but this is _a_ Hell, one of many, actually, and none of them are pleasant."

"I don't understand," said Lily.

"This is the Underground, but feel free to call it Hell if it makes you more comfortable."

The Undergound. Something about that word struck Buffy as familiar but she couldn't quite place it. So she ignored it. "Don't listen to him," Buffy said but the words lacked conviction. It wasn't her favorite thing to do but if she just let Ken ramble on, as the bad guys tended to do, maybe he'd give something away on accident, a little clue to tell her where she was and how to fight her way out.

In the absence of a rebuttal, because if Buffy didn't say anything Lily certainly wasn't stepping up to the plate, Ken leveled his eyes at Lily and said, "Just like Rickie."

"Rickie . . .," Lily breathed.

"He forgot you. It took a long time—he remembered your name years after he'd forgotten his own. But in the end . . ."

"Years?" Lily asked, "But . . ."

"Time here moves more quickly than in your dimension. A hundred long years will pass here—on earth, just a day."

Buffy said, just for clarification, "So you work us till we're old, then spit us back out."

Ken smiled. "Very good," he said to Buffy. Then to Lily, "You see, Lily, you'll die of old age before anyone wonders where you went. Not that anyone will. That's why we chose you."

"You didn't choose me," said Buffy, figuring that now was a good time to butt into this insane conversation.

Ken turned to her. "No, but I know you, 'Anne.' So afraid, so pathetically determined to run away from whatever you used to be. To disappear. Congratulations. You got your wish."

Buffy glared at Ken and silently cursed herself. He was right, of course. She had gotten her wish, albeit in a really twisted kind of way. Even though she had run, in the back of her mind she had always known that she'd come around at some point, that this whole Anne adventure had been a temporary reprieve. She knew she'd have to deal with where she'd come from eventually. But she was really pissed that a loser lackey demon like Ken was able to read her so easily.

"Nice place you got here," muttered Buffy just before she was thrown to the ground by two demon guards. There were six other people being manhandled by the demons and as Buffy climbed to her feet once more she took up a defensive stance in front of the other prisoners. She did it unconsciously and once she realized that she was doing it she immediately affected a meeker stance. She didn't want to stand out. Not yet. It wasn't time.

One of the demon guards, the one who must have been in charge, said, "You work, and you live. That is all. You do not complain, or laugh, or do anything besides work. Whatever you thought, whatever you were, does not matter. You are no one now, you mean nothing."

Blah, blah, blah, thought Buffy, as she listened to the guard give his speech and try to intimidate the other prisoners. She wasn't surprised when it worked. The guard went down the line, asking prisoner after prisoner, "Who are you?" and each one answered, "No one." Buffy took the time to study the place she was in. The tunnel, the room, all of it built from industrial-like concrete lit red and by unseen fires. There was darkness and smoke and dull lights. But then, what was that flash of movement and white light in the corner of her eye? She looked in that direction to see more but the guard stepped in front of her and blocked her line of sight.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Buffy beamed her most beamerific smile and answered, "I'm Buffy. The Vampire Slayer. And you are . . .?"

The guard raised his club to strike her but Buffy grabbed his hand and bent his arm in the wrong direction. As the guard screamed she grabbed the club and swung it around to meet the guard's chin. He flew backward and landed hard, unconscious.

The other two guards rushed forward but Buffy took them out easily, one with a foot to the face and the other with a club to the head. The guards fell as Buffy turned to the prisoners in her group, who were all staring at her with wide, frightened and yes, hopeful, eyes.

"Anyone who's not having fun here, follow me."

She turned and ran in a direction she hoped would take her to the exit which, consequently, was the same direction where she had seen that flash of white. She didn't turn to see if the others were following her but after a moment she heard footsteps and knew from their rhythm that it was the group of prisoners and not a bunch of demon guards. Only the feet of a bunch of panicked humans could make that particular hesitant, staccato sound.

Buffy raced through a series of corridors to end up on a ledge, one of many that she could now see all around the walls of a seemingly endless vertical tunnel. As the other prisoners caught up with her she stuck out an arm to hold them back and keep them from going over the edge. They hung back, clinging to the shadows, as Buffy stepped to the edge and looked upwards. Her eyes picked out the ledge that they had previously been standing on, across the tunnel and several levels up. Two of the demon guards were standing there now, looking down, no doubt searching for the escaped prisoners.

As their faces turned in Buffy's direction she retreated into the shadows and the group of prisoners stepped back to give her space. She turned to face them and said, "There's no way we can get there without meeting new people." She paused and took in the frightened faces of the prisoners, who were no doubt unused to fighting for their lives against the demon hordes, and sighed. They needed some sort of rallying speech. They also needed a plan, and judging from the panic evident on their faces none of them was about to volunteer one. So it was up to her. Again.

She turned to Lily. "Okay, Lily, when those guards leave, and they will, you take these guys and get up there. Fast and quiet. Anybody else wants to come along, fine, but you don't stop for anything. Clear?"

Lily's reaction was about what Buffy had expected, a gasp and a mask of terror, as if she had just been called upon to complete a complicated calculus problem on the chalk board in front of the whole class. Something like the Pythagorean theorem. Or was that not so complicated? And also not calculus? Whatever. Lily looked like the type of scared most people only felt a few times in a lifetime but Buffy had already felt too many times to count.

When Lily finally found her voice she squeaked out, "You're leaving me? But . . ."

"Lily, you can handle this. 'Cause I say so."

Buffy heard something from the tunnel overhead and risked another glance up to where the two guards were standing. She was just in time to see a flash of white hair and then the two guards went over the ledge, screaming as they fell. Her eyes followed their progress then trailed back up to the ledge and then got stuck. Because there he was, the Goblin King, in a crazy black suit of armor that looked like something straight out of a fairytale. He looked down and Buffy stepped a little further into the light. She couldn't read the expression on his face, he was too far away, but she felt the moment his eyes locked on her because they sent a shiver up her spine.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she muttered.

"What?" asked Lily, but Buffy didn't have time to answer because they both heard the crunch of approaching boots. They were soon to be very much not alone. Buffy glanced back at the ledge but the Goblin King was gone and Buffy wondered I perhaps she was just imagining him, as she did in her dreams sometimes.

She turned to the group of prisoners and said, "Ooh, we've gone public. Get them out. Go!"

Lily starts to lead the others away but then comes back. She looks even more sorrowful than before, which was a difficult thing to accomplish. She said, "I'm sorry I said this was your fault before."

"This can wait," answered Buffy. She felt the guards drawing closer with every breath and really needed Lily to take the others and get out of there. Like, now.

"Well—In case we die . . ."

"Go!" Buffy screamed.

Lily took off with the others and the guards appear immediately after. Buffy takes off, heading for the main chamber with the guards right on her heels. She felt them gaining on her but there wasn't room enough to fight where she was so she kept on running, hoping to lead them into a place where she would have the advantage and the space to battle them properly. It had been along few months since she'd had a fight like this and part of her admitted, reluctantly, that she had missed it.

Finally the tunnel opened up into the main chamber and Buffy sprinted into it. The guards followed but Buffy grabbed a pole as she passed it and swung around, catching one guard in the face. As he went down she released the pole and easily took out the other guard. She picked up their weapons, a cudgel and some sort of curved knife, and waited to be overrun.

A siren started to blare and bluish-white searchlights scanned the entire area, searching for the escapees. More guards stormed into the room and Buffy threw herself into the battle, enjoying the feel of her muscles and joints as they moved in perfect harmony, as if she hadn't just spent months avoiding this type of thing. She hoped that Lily and the others were making it out okay.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the other guards leaving their posts to join the fray. She smiled to herself as she swung the cudgel and knocked out a demon, who fell into two others and pinned them to the floor.

From somewhere she heard a pained shout, "Humans don't fight back! That's how this works!" She knew it was Ken as surely as she knew she had just shattered the kneecap of the demon she kicked as it tried to grab her from behind.

She saw more demons coming and turned and ran into another chamber. As soon as she arrived she turned to face her attackers, sparring with the first two guards who arrived and taking them down. A roar from above caught her attention and she looked up to see a demon guard on a catwalk above her head. He screamed and dove at her and Buffy simply took a step backward and he landed on the floor with a resolute thud.

Buffy studied the body for a moment and muttered, "Demons: not that bright."

She dodged another demon as it rushed her and then heard someone yelling, "One of you fights . . . and you all die!"

Looking up toward the first ledge the prisoners had come out on, Buffy saw Ken holding a blade against a terrified Lily's throat. As she was distracted by this sight, two demon guards came forward and grabbed her arms to secure her. She struggled, but not too much because she didn't think Ken was joking. There had to be another way out of this.

And then another way presented itself.

Ken shoved Lily aside and pointed his blade at Buffy. "That . . . was not permitted."

Buffy shrugged as best she could, given the fact that her arms were being held firmly at her sides by a quartet of demon hands. "Yeah, but it was fun."

Ken said, "You've got guts. I think I'd like to split you open and play with them." He gestured to the surrounding prisoners and guards who had stopped to watch the scene unfold, and Buffy had a sinking feeling that told her a long speech about the awesome power of demonhood was coming.

But Buffy was distracted from the gloating when a white-haired figure in black armor stepped onto the ledge and helped Lily to her feet. The two exchanged a knowing glance behind Ken's back, then the Goblin King motioned for Lily to step forward.

Ken spread his arms, took in his hell dimension with his creepy, demony eyes, and announced, "Let everyone know, this is the price of rebell—"

Ken's little speech was cut short when Lily pushed him over the edge.

The guards holding Buffy's arms relaxed their grips slightly and Buffy didn't pause to look the gift horse in the mouth. As if anyone would want to look a horse in the mouth, because yuck, horse breath. In an instant she crouched and then jumped up, kicking her legs up and doing a back flip over the heads of her captors. They were so surprised by the sudden move that they let her go, which prevented her from twisting both arms out of her sockets, so that was a nice perk. She grabbed an overhead pulley and swung it towards the demons. They dodged it easily but she didn't care because it distracted them long enough for her to take them both out with a single kick to the head.

Buffy smiled to herself as they went down and then ran out of the chamber. The day was certainly looking up.

After only a couple of wrong turns Buffy found the others at a portcullis that blocked the entrance to the room with the portal. Just as Buffy paused to assess the situation Lily arrived and said, "They'll be coming."

"Hold on," said Buffy. Piece of cake.

She squatted down and grasped the bottom of the portcullis. Placing her feet flat on the floor, making sure the spacing was correct to avoid a back injury, Buffy started to lift. For a moment she thought that it might be too heavy, that she might not be able to lift it, but then it budged. Only an inch, but it was enough to give her hope, and so she continued, and so the portcullis moved, ever so slowly, upwards.

"Okay. This works the quads, and also the gluteals," Buffy muttered, because sarcasm made physical activity ever so much more bearable.

As soon as there was room the prisoners started to shimmy through the opening. Buffy continues to lift the portcullis as she watched people hoist each other up through the glowing square portal in the ceiling. Lily is the last to pass through and so Buffy finally, with a last burst of strength, her muscles burning with the effort, hoists it up just enough for herself to slip underneath.

"Man, I'm gonna feel this for—" Her snappy remark is cut off as a bloody, battered Ken smashes into her, throwing her into the room with the portal. Once she loses her grip on the portcullis, however, it slams down hard, landing on Ken and pinning his legs to the floor.

Buffy stands up and picks up a discarded cudgel, then turns back toward Ken, who has come to his knees in front of the portcullis but can't stand. She smiles as she approaches him.

"You . . . ruined . . . you . . ." he says, out of breath.

"Hey Ken. Wanna see my impression of Ghandi?" Buffy asked. Ken said nothing, only looked blearily up at her. Geez, tough room," Buffy said, right before she brought the cudgel down with so much force that his head split like an overripe watermelon.

It had been a long time since Buffy had seen death up close and now she couldn't look away from it. She didn't feel bad. Ken had been a demon, after all, and had worked the life out of who knew how many humans, but it was still death. And it was . . . weird. She supposed she had just fallen off the wagon. Or gotten back onto the wagon. She guessed it depended on how one looked at it.

"Wasn't Ghandi a pacifist?" said a voice from behind her and Buffy whipped around, cudgel raised and ready to strike at this new threat. Instead of another demon guard she saw the white hair and bemused face of the Goblin King. He was still dressed in his black armor, as if he was going to war in . . . some really long ago time that she probably would have learned about in history if she hadn't been saving the world so much.

Buffy lowered the cudgel. She didn't know how she knew that The Goblin King meant her no harm, but she did. "So, what, did I just get magically teleported to Medieval Times or something? That's cool. I don't mind eating with my hands."

The Goblin King's thin lips turned down in confusion. "You are in the Underground. This is my kingdom."

"Your kingdom? Does that mean you condone what was being done here?" Buffy asked, even though she already knew the answer.

"Of course not," said the Goblin King, plainly irritated by her accusation.

"Good. And oh yeah, by the way, that's real original. You go down to get to it so you call it the underground? Who came up with that name, the obvious fairy?"

The Goblin King narrowed his eyes at her and Buffy felt waves of power washing over her skin. So, she thought, he's not a lightweight but if I need to I can take him out. But before she did she had to ask him a question that had been in the back of her mind ever since their first accidental encounter.

"Are you real or a just a figment of my overactive imagination?"

Those insanely arched eyebrows rose even higher on his forehead. "Of course I'm real. Who are you, that you keep meandering into my world? The Underground is a perilous place and no one comes and goes so easily."

Buffy tossed the cudgel aside and shrugged. "Guess I'm not no one."

And with that she leapt up to the portal and caught the edges on the other side. She pulled herself up and out of the portal and the Goblin King didn't try to stop her, as she knew he wouldn't. When she emerged on the other side she knew that her life of anonymity was over. It was time to go back. She just hoped that she was ready.


	4. Chapter 4- Sometime in Season 3

**Chapter 4 – Season 3: Between Band Candy and Revelations**

There was a definite eggshell quality to the way people were treating her, even though she'd been back for a while now. She had known that coming home would be hard, and the first few weeks were even worse than expected. Things had leveled out, kind of, but not enough to make everything feel normal, whatever that was. Whatever was going on, it was wearing on her nerves.

Buffy sat in the library, her head resting on her hand, thumbing through one of Giles's books, not seeing a single thing. Giles was in his office, making tea. Or maybe he was incessantly polishing his glasses. At any rate, he was doing things other than talking to Buffy, which, after going from being ignored because everyone was disappointed in her to being ignored because her Watcher had let his freak flag fly during an epic sugar rush, kind of sucked. She glanced out of the tiny, round windows to the hallway and watched people passing between classes, all the while flipping pages randomly.

Buffy turned back to the book, ready to slam it closed just to get Giles's attention when her gaze returned to the pages and came face to face with the eyes of the Goblin King. He looked different, more menacing in the black and white drawing than he did in real life. He looked feral, evil. And the funky ancient writing on the opposite page didn't help any. Had she not met him in person she would have thought he was just another scary monster to be killed.

"Giles!" she shouted.

He appeared in the doorway of his office moments later, his glasses in one hand being cleaned vehemently with the other. "No need to shout, Buffy, I'm right here."

"Sorry," said Buffy. She held up the book with the pages open to the picture of the Goblin King. "What do you know about goblins?" she asked.

Giles settled his glasses back into his nose and rounded the counter. "Goblins?" he asked, squinting at the book. He plucked it from Buffy's hands and glanced at the pages. "Well, they're usually small, though some can be larger, and they come in various colors and . . . aromas."

"And they like chickens," Buffy offered.

Before Giles could ask what she meant, Willow and Xander walked into the library. Willow asked, "Who likes chickens?"

"I do," offered Xander as he raised his hand. "I prefer them fried with a crispy golden coating that will slowly harden my arteries and eventually stop my heart."

Willow grinned at Xander and nudged him with her elbow. "Aw, you paid attention in health class, after all."

"Of course. I like to know what damage I'm doing to my body, though that will in no way change my habits."

"Because you want to die early from heart disease and morbid obesity?" asked Buffy.

"Because life without yummy goodness is not life. Give me fried chicken and heart disease or give me death."

Giles scratched his forehead. "So, your options here are death or death?"

Xander took a moment to contemplate what he'd just said, glanced at his feet, then looked at Buffy and asked, "So who likes chicken?"

"Not chicken. Chickens. And goblins."

"Is there a goblin on the loose?" Willow asked with far too much excitement.

"Okay, Will, apparently living on the Hellmouth is starting to skew your internal fun-o-meter," said Buffy.

Willow smiled sheepishly and put on her serious face. "Sorry. So, is there a goblin on the loose?"

"Not exactly . . ." started Buffy, but then she paused. How did she continue without sounding like a crazy person? And how did she tell them all of this without them thinking that she'd kept something from them, again. She bit her lip.

"Buffy, if there's something you feel we need to know . . ." Giles began but Willow cut him off, her eyebrows knit in concern.

"Buffy doesn't have to tell us anything that she doesn't want to tell us."

"It's fine, Will," said Buffy, "And I appreciate the sentiment but I don't need to be protected. At least I don't think so. But please, all I'm asking is that you don't be upset with me for not mentioning it sooner. There're been so much going on that I haven't really thought too much about it because I didn't see him as a threat."

"Didn't?" asked Giles.

"Him?" asked Xander.

"I don't," corrected Buffy, "And yes, him. I mean him, him." Buffy pointed to the book still open in Giles's hands and the others leaned in to get a glimpse.

"You saw that and you didn't get the menacing 'I'm gonna kill you' vibes?" asked Xander. "No offense, but maybe your internal vibe-o-meter is out of whack."

"Very funny. He doesn't look like that in person."

"In person? You mean you've met the Goblin King?" asked Giles. "When?"

"The Goblin King? As in, the King of Goblins? The supreme ruler of little goblin-like creatures?" asked Xander.

"Goblins are real?" asked Willow.

"Well . . ." said Giles, "Yes, of course."

"So, what happened?" asked Xander, rubbing his hands together in a very Mr. Burns sort of way. "How do you act when meeting Goblin royalty? Bow? Grovel? Bring gifts of ear wax and babies?"

Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Um, no and ewww. The first time I saw him—"

"Did you say first time?" asked Giles. He placed the book on the table in front of them and leaned over it towards Buffy. He was using his Watcher voice, which was never good. It was the voice that told Buffy she'd done something terribly disappointing. Normally Buffy would be bothered by that voice, but she had just seen Giles as a teenager in a grown man's body so she wasn't exactly feeling the fear.

"Yes. I've seen him twice. Both times on accident."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Well, for one, there were other things happening that took some of my attention. And for another thing, I thought it might have been in my head and I didn't want you guys to think I was nuts."

Xander came forward and put his arm around Buffy's shoulders, "You're adorable, Buff. Even if you were crazy we'd still keep you around just to look pretty."

Willow and Buffy both rolled their eyes.

"Thanks, Xander. You're very comforting."

"I try my best."

Giles interrupted them with an impatient clearing of his throat.

"Oh. Goblin King. Right. So, the first time I saw him was when The Master killed me."

Xander lifted his arm from Buffy's shoulders, but not before she felt him shudder at her reference. Geez, she thought, if anyone should shudder it should be me. But even Willow wouldn't look at her and Giles had started to clean his glasses again.

Buffy sighed. "Guys. Come on. It happened. And yes, it took a me a while and I spent a summer very full of the wiggins but I'm not going to go all "Girl Gone Bad" on you. At least, not anymore."

"It's 'Girls Gone Wild', and you have dashed all of my deepest hopes," quipped Xander as he dodged a dirty look from Giles.

"So, you saw the Goblin King in heaven?" asked Willow. Buffy was grateful because it brought them all back into focus.

"If that was heaven it was messed up," said Buffy, "It smelled like chickens and hay and B.O.."

"B.O.?" asked Giles.

"Yeah. And there were goblins all over the place, though I didn't realize what they were at first. And then I saw the Goblin King and he was just sitting there like he was Mr. Cool Guy and then he told me I wasn't supposed to be there and he threw a crystal ball at me and I woke up with Xander giving me mouth to mouth."

"You're welcome," Xander said.

"Thank you."

"The Goblin King is a gypsy?" asked Willow, excited.

"No. What gave you that idea?"

Willow pouted, her enthusiasm somewhat extinguished. "You said crystal ball."

Buffy held her thumb and forefinger about two inches apart and said, "About this big, Will. Not exactly seeing the future in a glorified marble."

Giles picked up the book with the Goblin King in it and squinted at the pages. "Actually, it appears that he may be able to see things using those crystals. It says here that he uses them to spy on people and creatures in the Underground."

"The Underground!" shouted Buffy suddenly, "I really didn't think that was a real thing."

"Is it draped in velvet?" asked Xander with a giggle.

"Um, no," said Giles. "Buffy, you say he spoke to you?"

Buffy shrugged. "Yeah. But I spoke to him more the second time. And how are you reading that book? What language is that, anyway?"

"Goblin."

"You read goblin?" asked Willow. "How? When?"

"It's a long story and I'm afraid we're in the middle of another one: Buffy's. She was just going to tell us her second experience with the Goblin King," Giles prodded not-so-gently.

"Sure thing. So last Summer when I was . . . gone . . . I ended up in a hell dimension battling this demon guy who was kidnapping homeless teens and working them into an early geriatric period. And there he was."

"Who was?" asked Xander, opening a candy bar and biting off a hunk of it before he added, "The demon guy?"

"No, the Goblin King. He sort of . . . helped me, I guess."

"Helped how?" asked Willow.

Buffy shrugged. "He was fighting the demons. Well, kind of. At least he goaded one of the girls there to battle on her own. And then we chatted." Buffy frowned.

"Why are you frowning? Did he say something you didn't like? Did he insult you? I'll kick his goblin—"

Giles interrupted, "Xander! That's quite enough."

"He didn't like my quip," said Buffy.

Willow said, "Aw, who doesn't like a good quip?"

"I know, right?" asked Buffy. "And I'm a pretty quippy gal."

"The quippiest," added Xander before diving back into his candy bar. It was truly disgusting to watch him eat. Sheesh, boys were animals.

"Did he say anything about . . . Well, anything? Did he mention why he might be there?"

"We were in the Underground, which is sort of his world, right?"

"It is. He rules the Underground and everyone in it," said Giles. "So, this hell dimension you were in, that was actually in the Underground?" He still seemed to be having a tough time wrapping his brain around the concept.

"I guess. That's what he called it. I guess he wasn't too thrilled with the slave labor," said Buffy with a shrug.

"Maybe he's a union man," said Xander and this time everyone ignored him.

Buffy pointed to the book, "So what's in there? I hope it doesn't say he's a horrible monster and that I have to kill him because he didn't seem like a bad guy. Stuffy, like you, Giles, but with a severely outdated style. His style was so outdated it would make a vampire look good."

"Bell bottoms?" asked Willow.

"Dolphin shorts?" asked Xander. "Ooh, a mullet? Please, tell me he had a mullet."

Buffy laughed at Xander's excitement. "No. Think more like glam rock circa 1981."

"Except that's not makeup on his face," said Giles, "He's always looked like that. And no, he's not an evil monster. He's Fae."

"What's a Fae?" asked Buffy and Xander simultaneously.

"A faerie," answered Willow. "He's a faerie. Right, Giles?"

"Well, yes. He is part of a group of Fae called the Unseelie."

Xander's head shot up, "Wait, you mean as in Seelie and Unseelie? I totally remember this from," he paused as he noticed Buffy and Willow both studying him with amused smiles, then changed course, "From listening to other people talk about playing Dungeons and Dragons."

"Nice backpedal," muttered Giles and Buffy looked down at her lap to hide her smirk while Xander looked scandalized.

"Let me guess," said Buffy, "Seelie are the good fairies and Unseelie are the bad fairies."

"In a manner of speaking, yes, but not completely. What you must know is that they're both extremely ancient, extremely powerful and very easily offended."

"Well then it's a good thing I won't be inviting them over for tea. Am I going to have to kill him or what?"

Giles asked, "Either of the times that you've seen him has he tried to hurt you or incarcerate you in any way?"

"Nah. He's mostly just there. And the last time, like I said, I think he was actually helping. He did ask me who I was, though, which I thought was weird because I figured everyone knew about me."

"That's not surprising, actually," said Giles, "Most of the Fae prefer to avoid humans and though it's not unheard of it's becoming rare to find a Fae outside of the Underground."

"Do they all live in the Underground? Are they like Molemen? Is Buffy going to have to fight Molemen?" asked Xander.

"And now you're the one who is far too excited about this," said Willow.

"Probably," Xander agreed, "But is she?"

Giles narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "No, Xander, they are not Molemen and I hope that Buffy will not have to fight them. A slayer has a lot of power but I think even you might have a hard time fighting off the hordes of Underground denizens."

Well, that doesn't sound promising, thought Buffy. "Got it. No slay the fairies. So, what should I do? And why did I go there when I died?"

"Yes, that is a question, isn't it? I'll have to make some calls, perhaps? Do some research? And perhaps, in the meantime, if you see Jareth again—"

Buffy cut him off, "Who's Jareth?"

"The Goblin King," said Giles, as if the answer should have been obvious.

"The Goblin King's name is Jareth? That's just . . ." Buffy couldn't find the right word for it so Willow finished for her.

"Weird. I'd expect something a little flashier. But Jareth?"

Giles sighed. "It's what the book says. If you have a problem with it, take it up with the publisher." He set the book down on the table, turned around, and walked back to his office.

The three watched him walk away and then exchanged surprised glances.

"What are we supposed to do now?" asked Xander.

"Go to class," said Willow.

"Ugh," said Buffy, "Can't I just fight some fairies instead?"

"No!" Giles called out from his office.

"Fair enough," said Buffy as she followed her friends out of the library. She wondered when or if she'd ever see The Goblin King again. And though part of her hoped that she would, the rest of her thought that if she did it would probably meant that something had gone horribly wrong.

 **A/N: Hey, look . . . Words! Thanks for reading. I hope to post more words soon. Happy New Year!**


	5. Fool for Love

**5-The Underground**

 **(Fool for Love)**

The goblins were making a racket. It wasn't that their racket was any more boisterous than usual, but it was giving Jareth a throbbing headache. Of course, telling the goblins to be silent would be as effective as telling the chickens to stop clucking, which would also be delightful at the moment. He reclined on his throne and rubbed his temples and scowled at the chattering, singing group of merry goblins and found himself wondering yet again why that insufferable blonde girl kept appearing in his realm.

With a sigh of frustration at his inability to discern her purpose, he shot to his feet and strode out of the room. He didn't have a destination in mind but his legs took him down a long stone corridor to his study, a place the goblins never ventured unless summoned. He shut the door and the din faded into a quiet, manageable murmur. He had been spending more and more time brooding in this room of late, trying to discern why that girl kept showing up, and to what end?

Jareth leaned his shoulder against the window and let the breeze ruffle his hair. Far below him the labyrinth stretched in all directions, its meandering grey walls working like a balm to soothe his troubled mind. It seemed like forever since he'd sent word to his mother via that ancient, unpleasant creature, Higgle, to ask if she knew of anyone being able to come and go at will into the faerie realm. Hogwart had been quick to remind him of Sara, the girl who had refused him so many years ago, and Jareth had threatened a dip in the Bog of Eternal Stench for daring to speak her name. Perhaps it was the mention of Sara, and not the fact that he'd heard nothing as yet, that had him so on edge.

Yes, he told himself, that was it. He hated to even think of Sara now, after all these years. He'd stopped checking in on her so long ago he doubted he would even recognize her. She held no sway over him anymore. It had been many long, peaceful years since someone had captivated him so much, right up until the annoying, fair-haired girl appeared in his throne room.

With a heavy sigh he pulled himself away from the view and sank into a nearby chair, kicking his feet up onto his desk. He glowered at the room around him, scanned the bookshelves for something to pique his interest, but nothing came. Finally, with another sigh, he flicked his fingers and produced a small crystal sphere. It was not without some shame that he focused on the smooth glass and said, "Show me the girl."

Fascinated by the mystery of her arrivals and departures, he had taken to checking in on the girl from time to time. He had seen her meet another like her, just as powerful but with a darker streak. He had watched them fight and he had watched the blonde win. He had watched as she rallied an entire group of young humans to battle a massive serpent. He had watched her lose her voice and fight against sinister floating demons set on collecting human hearts. That had been a treat, considering he found the constant prattling of humanity tiresome. He had seen the moment she fell for some boy who was clearly not her equal and watched her spend countless hours in his arms, sweating and rutting like an animal. That episode had been unpleasant and he had not lingered. He saw her defeat a strange, piecemeal monster by taking powers from her constant companions, even the one who seemed to have no power to share. He had watched as her heart broke over and over, and watched as she jumped back into the fray time and time again.

She had been beaten, betrayed, and nearly destroyed, but it only served to make her come back stronger. Jareth didn't like to admit it but he was fascinated by this strange, powerful human.

An image began to form out of the glittering, swirling clouds in the crystal, solidifying into two figures going through the motions of a fight . . . or perhaps it was a dance. One of the figures had a stick of some kind and swung it languidly while the other figure dodged. It was definitely a fight, but not one that was being played to win or lose. Slowly the figures came into focus. It was the girl, for sure, and then that strange white-haired man that seemed always to be lurking near her. The man was part demon and Jareth didn't understand why the girl let him live, considering killing his kind seemed to be her entire reason for being. She looked angry. The man looked pleased with himself. Both were intent on something he was saying but she didn't look as if she were in danger.

Jareth needed to know what that was. With a flick of his wrist the crystal disappeared as he stood and moved back toward the window. He climbed up onto the ledge, closed his eyes and focused on the girl. He tipped forward out of the window and, instead of falling toward the ground, transformed into a snow-white owl. His great wings spread wide, he flew across the labyrinth toward the old tree on the hill that overlooked the entrance. Once he reached the gnarled tree he flew directly into it and the portal contained within swallowed his avian body whole.

Jareth flew through complete darkness, no up or down, left or right, the only thing keeping him on track was the thought of the girl and the need to reach her as quickly as possible. It was as if his body was tethered to hers, drawing him forward in the darkness, leading him into the light. Out of the blackness, pinprick lights appeared, like stars. Jareth rushed towards them as they grew in both number and size. The shapes of a city that he had become familiar with over these past months resolved around him and still the cord pulled him closer.

He found the slayer and her white-haired companion in an alley and touched down on the lip of the roof of a nearby building. Music with an annoyingly fast beat came from somewhere beneath him, it thrummed in his ears and the roof beneath his claws vibrated with it. He could still hear what was going on beneath him, though, and that was all that mattered.

White-Hair swung his stick and the girl dodged. Then she threw a punch and he slipped out of the way. All the while, he spoke.

"Every day you wake up it's the same bloody question that haunts you: is today the day I die? It's a warrior's pain, a warrior's question and you ask it every time the sun rises."

They exchanged a few more half-hearted blows but Jareth could see that the girl was tired. He smelled blood but couldn't see any. He wondered if this was the creature that injured her and his feathers stood up as he found himself wanting to join the fight on her behalf. Instead he remained high above them, perched on the edge of the building, not yet willing to get involved.

"And every day you manage to survive," White-Hair continued, "you're only partly relieved because you know—it's just a matter of time."

White-Hair brought the stick down directly toward her head and she caught it just before it connected. They froze in place, connected by this staff, their eyes locked.

"Death is on your heels, baby—and sooner or later, it's going to catch you, and some part of you wants it. Not only to stop the fear and the uncertainty—but because you're just a little bit in love with it."

The girl pushed back hard on the staff and it hit White-Hair in the stomach. He doubled over, and when he looked up she punched him in the face twice. They were quick jabs, probably didn't even hurt him that much, and Jareth wondered why she accepted such insolence from such a lowly creature.

White-Hair, undeterred by the punches and down on his knees before her, kept talking. His voice was soft and menacing and his words hung heavy in the air between them. "Death is your art. You make it with your hands, day after day. That final gasp, that look of peace, part of you is desperate to know . . . What's it like? Where does it lead you? That's also a warrior's question. A warrior's curiosity.

"So, you see, that's the secret. Not the punch she didn't throw or the kick she didn't land. She simply wanted it. Every Slayer has a death wish. Even you."

The silence that prevailed then was much worse than the words. Jareth could read the truth of them on the girl's—no, the Slayer's—face. (That is an apt name for her, he thought.) He could also see how hard she fought against the truth, how much she wanted this creature to be wrong about her. Jareth didn't know what conversation had brought them to this moment but it was clear that the revelation had shaken the girl to her core, moreso than any of the monsters he'd watched her face off against ever since she first came to the Underground. But something about this monster was different. He wanted something else from her Slayer, something more than her destruction. Jareth just couldn't quite focus in on what it was.

A small bell, like the sound of crystal chimes, caught Jareth's attention. He looked down on the Slayer and White-Hair, wanting to stay longer, but the labyrinth was calling to him and he had to answer. With a great push of his wings he took off from the lip of the building and soared into the night sky. Just like before, the city lights faded and the darkness took hold, but this time Jareth felt the tug of the invisible cord that bound him to his kingdom, a manifestation of his will.

A dull yellow glow started to form in the distance and he flapped his wings harder, responding to the pull of the labyrinth. Before the Underground was close enough to take shape, Jareth felt a tug from a different direction. He tried to ignore it, but then it happened again, harder this time. The third time it happened he spun out of control and landed hard on a floor of packed dirt, rolling to a stop against something hard.

Jareth opened his eyes and looked up to see a wall made of stone that went up and met with a ceiling, also made of stone. He sat up, realizing that somehow, during the fall, he had resumed his normal form. He stood and dusted himself off, for an Unseelie king, even a kidnapped king, would not do to be covered in dust. He glanced around the room, looking for an exit, and quickly saw that there wasn't one: just four stone walls, a stone ceiling, and a square stone pillar in the middle of the room with a fire that licked the air but did not seem to run out of fuel, nor release smoke into the air. He didn't know how he'd ended up there or where he was. Perhaps it is a trick, he thought.

"I am Jareth, the Goblin King, a monarch of the Unseelie Court, but I suppose you already know that since you've gone and led me astray." He called out to the seemingly empty room, knowing instinctively that he wasn't truly alone.

"It speaks." The voice seemed to seep from the very walls, and it seemed to be more than one voice speaking in unison. "We did not ask it to speak."

"It's not as if you have a say in that," replied Jareth, plucking at the frill at the ends of his sleeves to straighten it.

"We prefer silence from lower forms," said the voices, "but you have been meddling. It needs to end."

"Meddling? Meddling in what? I don't meddle. I control. I create. I divide and conquer."

"The Slayer," said the voices.

Jareth paused, then said, "You are a part of her world, then."

"All worlds."

"I know every inch of the Underground and have never heard of a place like this."

"We are the Conduit."

"Conduit to what?"

"The Powers that Be."

Jareth rolled his eyes and laughed, all tension gone. So, this was not a trick, but neither was it something worth concern. "The Powers that Be don't interfere with the realm of Faerie."

"Not before. No reason to. Now we must."

"Why did you bring me here?"

"You must not trouble the Slayer. She belongs to us."

"Then I suppose you should have kept a better handle on her and not let her go flitting off between worlds then."

"That was . . . an error."

Seeing his chance to finally get some answers, Jareth asked, "What kind of error sends a girl to the Underground?"

"The kind that kills a girl who cannot die."

"Well, that was unexpected," he muttered under his breath.

The voices continued. "Man created the Slayers to protect man. But the powers were too strong. The magic too violent. They broke the divide between realms. Only one way to diffuse the power. Endless possibilities opened."

"I don't understand," said Jareth in awe. "Explain." So, this Slayer girl was a much more powerful creature than he'd even suspected.

"We will not," said the voices.

"Perhaps," they answered themselves, "We can share what we know."

"A little," they said, agreeing.

Jareth leaned one shoulder against the wall and shook his head, waiting for the voices to stop bickering.

"Slayers were created on Earth, so begin their lives on Earth. They fight. They lose. They die. But their magic cannot die. When their eyes close in this reality, they open in another."

"What do you mean, another? Like another world? Like the Underground?"

"Dimensional aberration. Slayers are not only meant for their world, but for all worlds. They grow, stop aging, save their world, move on, save another. Again and again."

His mind rebelled against what they were telling him. He knew that other realms existed—truly it would be folly and arrogance to think that they did not when his own experience had proven it time and time again—but to think that such a creature was coming to the Underground now. "What does that mean for my kingdom? Will she come back if she dies for good? Does her appearance mean that the Underground is in danger?"

"We do not know."

"How can you not know? The Powers that Be are supposed to know all."

"We do not know."

"What am I supposed to do with this information?"

"Stay away from the Slayer. She is not yours."

"I haven't done anything."

"She dreams of you. She thinks of you. You watch her."

They had a point but he wasn't about to concede. "So what?"

"Done now," the voices said.

The fire went out suddenly and Jareth felt himself yanked backwards as if a rope were tied around his waist. He flew backwards into darkness and then his whole body slammed against something hard that knocked the breath out of him. Groaning, he opened his eyes to see that he was on the floor of his study. The sky had grown dark in his absence.

Jareth struggled to get off the floor and then dusted himself off. His black pants were dusty from the Conduit and the ruffles at the wrists of his white shirt were brown with grime. His entire body ached from his little detour. The situation was unpleasant, to say the least. "Damn them," he muttered.

Outside the study he could hear the goblin racket growing louder. It echoed down the hallway, which meant that they were on the move. He had almost forgotten. Tonight was the night of the Wild Hunt. A tingle of excitement rippled through him. There was much still to prepare.

He strode out of his study toward his bedchamber, putting out of his mind, for now, the words of the Conduit, that the Slayer goes to realms that will need saving. He could think on it tomorrow. For now, there was only the ride and the hunt. Outside the castle it felt as if the air itself was pregnant with possibilities. The walls of the labyrinth trembled, though in excitement or fear, the creatures who dwelled there could not tell.


End file.
